Submersion
by laughandlove
Summary: Sam was drowning, both figuratively...and literally. He had told Dean once that he would die for him, and he meant every word. Kinda angsty.
1. Chapter 1

**Hehehe...I probably shouldn't be writing this now, as I am not yet finished my other story, the Winchester Mansion. I said in my profile when I talked about doing this story that I would have to wait until I updated the last chapter of that, but I really just can't. This has been in my head to long. I apologize to all who are currently reading it, but I can also defend myself: this first chapter was entirely planned out to begin with, and took less time to write. It's late now and I don't have time to improvise the next chapter for the Winchester Mansion (which is what I usually do), so really, it's all still good, right? Ok...so this story definitely has more angst than I'm used to. Please stick with me through it, and review! Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything. **

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_**NOW**_

_The water was rushing around him, through him, above him, rushing so hard and loud that the sound of the rapids was deafening him. Breathing was a lost luxury, as was movement. His body splayed in the depths of the vast emptiness, small bubbles trickling from his open mouth. His lungs screamed in agony, desirous of the oxygen he so desperately needed. But he wouldn't get it. He would never breathe again. And all he could think about was Dean, about how broken he would be when he found out that Sam had chosen this fate, chosen this for him. He told Dean once that he would die for him, he was his brother. And he meant every word. Sam had saved Dean from the same watery fate, and for that he was happy. The pain, though...the pain of drowning, of being fully and wholly submerged, was more than he could bear. He closed his eyes and waited for the impending blackness to come so he could finally be free._

_**BEFORE**_

A black car sped down the back roads of Montana, the blaring mullet rock blaring from the speakers likely audible from a fair distance away. An onlooker could observe two young men situated in the two front seats, bickering stupidly over what an average individual with a normal life would write off as a simple brotherly quarrel. And that it was, in a way-although it was far from simple. The topic was what separated the argument from normalcy, although, for the two Winchesters, it was an everyday occurrence to debate over an incredibly strange supernatural death – which was, of course, what they were doing.

"Dude, it's not worth looking into," insisted the oldest brother, with a tangible air of annoyance. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield.

"What are you talking about, Dean? We've looked in to way less than this. Think about it: Three people dead in three weeks, all members of the same family. First a brother, then two sisters. All the same symptoms – apparent signs of drowning, water in their lungs but not on their clothes. And for the past nine years, four people have died over the course of four weeks, each person leaving one sibling behind. In this case, there's still one sibling left."

"Like I said, Sammy boy. It's probably just some insane serial killer who follows some whacked out murder pattern."

The youngest Winchester raised his eyebrows, giving Dean a clear look of incredulity. "And the cause of death? How do you explain that?"

Dean turned to look briefly at his brother, flashing him a characteristic cocky grin. "Well, that's obvious-" When Sam shook his head in disbelief, already mentally writing off whatever explanation Dean would have, the eldest brother became defensive.

"Would you just listen to me for one second, brain boy? Other people can have theories to, you're not God."

"Well, I know that," said Sam, laughing. He was truly enjoying watching Dean try to invent an explanation for something that was obviously supernatural.

"Listen, this froot loop problably just poured a jug of water down their throats through a funnel or something, after he already suffocated them."

"And that seems logical to you?" asked Sam. Dean's head must be a pretty screwed up place.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not?"

"Why not? I could give you a few reasons." Sam began ticking off fingers. "One, there wouldn't be any point in a killer pouring water down their throats. It just doesn't make any sense, dude. And two, there's no evidence. No prints, no fibers, no DNA. Nothing. And three-"

"-yeah, yeah, yeah Sammy-Whammy. I get it. But weren't you the one to get held captive by the redneck posse? Humans have some serious issues, man. You know I'm right."

"And you know I'm right, Dean. There is no way that this is a run-of-the-mill serial killer."

"Is there such a thing as a run-of-the-mill serial killer?"

"You know what I mean. Why are you so against going on this hunt? You're always the one trying to convince me of something."

Dean stopped the car on the side of the road, turning to look over at Sam. He was met with an expectant stare from his brother's hazel eyes, the look he always used on Dean when he wanted to weasel out the truth from his older sibling.

"Why did you stop the car, Dean?"

"Maybe it's because I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. Or maybe it's because there's a ditch right there, and I'm going to need somewhere to dispose of your lanky ass after I murder you."

"Dean, come on. What's your deal?"

"Honestly, Sammy, I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right about this whole thing."

"How is this any different from any other case we've ever looked into?"

"It's not...I don't know." Dean sighed. He knew perfectly well why he felt hesitant to go into this job. He hadn't ignored the pattern, it was as clear as day. The spirit, or whatever it was, went after siblings. Four in a year. And it always left one remaining, every single time one unfortunate soul was left to deal with the devastation of losing someone close to them. And this year, if the pattern was to stay the same, one more person was left. And he and Sam were brothers. If they were to get entrenched in this investigation, there would be a helluva good chance that one of them could be the next victim, and he wasn't ready for that to happen.

He was probably being irrational. Hell, a few months ago he would have jumped right in to this case, guns blazing and adrenaline pumping. It was rare to find such a perfect hunting job. But after losing Dad...he had a constant pain in his chest that he couldn't alleviate, no matter how hard he tried. He knew Sam was hurting, he had admitted to Dean that he wasn't okay-but Sam didn't have to deal with the fact that Dad was gone because of him. Because he was weak and hadn't been able to beat that goddamned coma, been strong enough to live and fight on his own. He would never get over it. He knew that now. Sam was the only thing saving him from falling into absolute despair, the only family he had left, the cornerstone in his life. He literally had nothing else going for him.

But Sam couldn't know this. Sam had to be happy, remain unburdened by whatever issues Dean was dealing with in his tortured psyche. For if Sam were to find out just how bad Dean was doing, Dean would have failed his father, would have broken his promise that he had made so long ago to protect Sammy, his Sammy, at all costs. He had let his emotions out briefly, once briefly by the side of the road. He hadn't been able to hold it in then, but ever since he had doubled his efforts to try and retain his usual "Dean" demeanor. All would be okay if Sam thought that after his brother's little "spill my guts" session that Dean was over his temporary period of depression.

"Still waiting for a brilliant explanation, Dean," said Sam impatiently.

"Still ready to murder you, string bean."

"So what is it?"

Dean turned the key in the ignition, re-starting the Impala. "We'll go, okay? Happy?"

"But what about-"

"It was nothing, Sammy. I guess I'm just tired or something. Let's find this town. What was it called again?"

Sam uncrumpled the slightly torn newspaper clipping he had clenched in his hands, reading over the faded article. "Uh...lets see...okay, Rapid Falls. Town of 5,672 people. ("That's specific," muttered Dean) All the murders have happened there, but they don't give an address for the last family. For confidentiality, I guess."

"We're gonna have to question around then. Open the glove compartment, Sam. Got any state-police badges? I think I made some for Montana a while ago during a werewolf case."

As Sam rummaged through the barrage of false identification cards, Dean leaned back in the vinyl seat of the Impala. He had agreed to go on the hunt because he realized that any job they would go on (and they would end up going on one) would be insanely dangerous anyway. This one was a bit too specific, too close to home for Dean's liking, but he calmed his insecurity by reassuring himself that nothing would happen. He just wouldn't let Sam leave his sight. And if Sam didn't leave his sight, then nothing could hurt him.

"Found them," said Sam with triumph, holding out the two badges. He glanced down to read what they said, unable to suppress a laugh. "Uh, Dean? 'Robert Chartoff and Irwin Winkler'? Those are the producers of Rocky, dude."

"I knew I heard those names somewhere," said Dean. "They just popped into my head when I had to come up with 'em."

"We're gonna get caught, Dean. There's no way they're going to believe that these are our names."

"Worked the first time," said Dean with a shrug. "Just flash it real fast, like you did with the 'bikini inspector' card."

Sam shook his head angrily. "I still can't believe you made me do that."

Dean laughed, pulling out on the road. Yeah, he could act normal...for now.

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

"Why do you friggin' cops keep comin' round here? I must've told a crapload of you that I know nothin'. I just feel bad for that family, is all. And all them others. All I can say is I'm glad I got no family. Means I never have to lose 'em."

Dean cleared his throat, scratching down nonsense on the small notepad he had brought, for effect. So far, he had written: _Old man with no teeth. Smells like old socks. Knows nothing. Is eating scrapple, which means he has completely lost his mind._

Sam, however, seemed to have more interest in what the man was saying. "Did you know any of the victims?"

"I didn't know 'em, really. Just seen 'em around town, they come in here to get some grub."

"What were they like?" questioned Sam, persistent in his efforts.

The man thought for a second. "Fine, I guess. These last to die, the Drakes...the brother was real successful. Greg, I think his name was. Had a real big house. The sisters, uh...Sarah, Jane...they were twins, er, triplets. The last is still livin'. Tabitha, I think her name is. They all lived together, but I don't think they got on all that well. Always fightin' over shit. Came in bitchin' into here all the time 'bout each other."

"Do you know where Tabitha lives?"

"Not the number. Know it's on Grapevine Avenue, the white one with the red shutters. Kinda small."

"Thank you," said Sam. "If you think of anything else, call this number." He handed the man a card with his cell cumber printed on it in black ink. "My name is Irwin, this is Robert."

"Call me Robby," said Dean, smiling. He loved using aliases. "Come on, Irwy. Let's go."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean, at the moment, wasn't making a very convincing cop. "See you, uh..."

"Ned," supplied the old man.

"Alright, see you around Ned. Thanks for the tip."

The two brothers strolled out of the small restaurant, into the main street of Rapid Falls. It was a cloudy day, suitable in that it matched Dean's inner unsteadiness about the job. Sam, however, was charged.

"Let's go find Tabitha."

_**NOW**_

_The body of a young man floated eerily in a dark pool of water, long brown hair radiating from his head and waving in the slight ripples created by the movement of the clear, cool liquid. But only he saw the water, only he felt it. His body wasn't wet in the slightest. As he lost consciousness, the notion of water disappeared. And Sam was left on the cold, unforgiving ground in the black of night, his lungs filled with water that had never really existed._

**TBC**

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**Okay, please review! This chapter was kinda short, but the rest will likely be longer. I would really appreciate feedback! (Btw, Rapid Falls is a town created by me. It isn't real.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! I'm so impressed and grateful for the amount of reviews I've received so far for this story, thank you to all who took the time to send me feedback! I'm incredibly sorry for the long update- my schedule has been overflowing with crap...homework, college apps and essays, work, driving my younger sister around EVERYWHERE...and also finally updating the Winchester Mansion. I don't see further updates taking this long, but I apologize ahead of time if they do! Here's the next installment, please R&R!**

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_**NOW**_

_She looked down at the body of the young man, her black hair swirling around her pale face in the cool night air. This was the last kill of the year, and all she could think about were the plans for the next coming season – the next siblings she could destroy. She knew the other man would be on his way soon, and she smiled as she hovered to the side of his deceased brother. She pulled the fabric of her flimsy nightdress around her transparent body, waiting with an obscene air of anticipation for his impending arrival._

_**BEFORE**_

The house was just as Ned had described it to the Winchester brothers: small, white, and with peeling red shutters on the side of each window. Inside was a mourning woman who had just lost her brother, as well as her two sisters – the identical twins that made her the triplet of the threesome. Sam grimaced as he looked at the exterior of the house from his position in the Impala, uncomfortably adjusting his state police uniform as he glanced over at Dean.

"Do you really think this is a good idea right now?" asked Sam with trepidation.

"Hell yeah it's a good idea, we have to find out what happened to those people, Sammy. We don't know when the next murder could be, we can't exactly wait around and twiddle our thumbs," answered Dean with conviction. He was determined to get to the bottom of this case.

Sam frowned, pinching to bridge of his nose and looking out of the passenger-side window. "It's just...she just lost three of her siblings, Dean. And all we're gonna do is make her talk about it, feel even worse than she does now. I know we have to do something, but maybe we could start off with more research, or something like that. Or we could interview more of the townspeople, or-"

"-She's gonna know the most," cut in Dean. "There's no way we're wasting more time." He opened the heavy metal door of the Impala, reveling in the familiar squeal the hinges made as they stretched open. Sam had told him to grease the joints more than once, virtually ridiculed him for not doing so, but the truth was that the creaking sounds produced by the old automobile reminded him of his father, the countless times that Dean sat in Sam's current position – on the road with dad and learning from the master how to hunt.

He kept a stoic face as he approached the front door of the small home, followed closely by a pensive Sam. In reality, he had thought the same thing that Sam had about the wisdom of interviewing Tabitha mere days after the death of her family members – the only reason he was doing it, in a sense, was to stop the same thing from happening to either Sam or himself...especially Sam. The fact that one more sibling was left to die in this current string of murders had weighed heavily on his mind since beginning the case, and if it took an uncomfortable interview with a saddened woman to shed more light on what was happening, then that's what it took.

He straightened his police hat on his head as he stood in front on the landing of the house, throwing a cocky smirk at Sam.

"Do I look like a male stripper in this outfit?" he said, flexing his biceps.

Sam laughed, shaking his head in response to Dean's never-ending audacity.

"Because, you know, if she doesn't look so cheery when she sees us, I could always MAKE her cheery..."

"Dean..." warned Sam.

"What?" he asked. "Nothing wrong with a little lovin'."

Sam scowled, although the stern facial expression lacked conviction. Something wasn't quite right with Dean, he had sensed it from the very moment in the Impala that he had read the details of the case to his brother. He wasn't sure what was really eating at him, but he did know that in times of difficulty, Dean turned to humor. And Sam would go along with it, if it helped Dean to deal with whatever was bothering him.

He reached over and rang the doorbell, rocking on his heels and looking up to the sky uncomfortably. Thirty seconds passed before the door slowly opened.

A woman stood at the threshold of the house, her face heavily caked in makeup and her body hugged by a tight red dress. Her eyes were somewhat watery, but other than that, she appeared as if nothing at all traumatic had just happened to her.

Dean barely hid a surprised expression, looking over expectantly at Sam.

"Yes, officers?" she asked Sam and Dean, somewhat impatiently.

"I'm sorry, we must have the wrong house," said Sam. "We're looking for Tabitha Drake, does she live at this address?"

The woman's eyes darted from brother to brother, now with some confusion in their gaze. "I'm Tabitha Drake," she said uncertainly.

Dean raised his eyebrows, receiving a deathly glare from Sam in return. Sam pulled out his fake badge, prompting a slightly dazed Dean to do so as well. Both brothers flashed them to the woman, placing them quickly back into their pockets.

"Montana State Police," said Sam. "We were wondering if we could ask you some questions about what happened to your brother and sisters?"

Tabitha's slight grin suddenly faded. "Actually, I was just getting ready for a date," she said quickly. "The county police already came anyway, why do you need to ask me more questions?"

Dean took this as his opportunity to finally pipe in. "This was more of a case for the state police," he said. "The county officers left a bit to be desired in what happened, it warranted further investigation. Can we come in?"

Tabitha sighed, at first appearing as if she was going to say no. Apparently deciding against denying entry of two police officers into her house, she acquiesced. "But I have to hurry," she added. "My date's in a half an hour."

Dean nodded. "Of course, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. The woman noticed nothing, but Sam sensed Dean's inherent sarcasm in the action.

Tabitha led them into a dimly lit living room. "You can sit there," she said, pointing to an overstuffed sofa against the wall. Dean and Sam sat uncomfortably, Dean frowning as he sunk far down into the cushions, unable to move. Sam concealed a grin, a grin that turned into a smile of disbelief as he turned his head and watched Tabitha. The woman had actually walked over to a jewelry box atop a table across the room, and started to put in earrings.

A minute later, she walked back over to where the two brothers were situated, taking her own seat in a worn armchair across from the couch. "So what did you want to ask?" she blurted.

Dean opened his mouth, but was cut off by Sam's steady, comforting voice. "First, we're both sorry for your losses," said the youngest Winchester, staring with his brown doe-orbs into her unfeeling, icy blue eyes.

She looked down at her folded, manicured hands. "Thank you," she said somewhat coldly.

"What can you tell us about what happened?" asked Dean.

She sighed. "They were so dumb, all of them. Getting killed like that, right in the open. I come home from work, and Sarah and Jane were just lying in the front yard. I thought they were drunk, they pass out sometimes after partying, but when I walked over to them they were both cold. Dead. I pounded on Sarah's chest, to get her to breathe, and water...just poured out of her mouth. But she wasn't wet, it was the weirdest thing. And then my cell phone rings, the Emergency Response Service was calling to say that Greg's neighbor found him dead on his lawn, the same way."

"Why do you say they were dumb?" asked Sam gently.

She looked at them, chilling Sam's heart with her intent gaze. 'There were no signs that any of them fought back. They weren't strong. They just let themselves get killed by whatever insane psychopath decided to murder them. And now, because of that, the cops were blaming me for it. ME! They said I was too unfeeling or something, they thought I murdered them since we fought all the time...and over jealousy of Greg..." she trailed off.

"Jealousy of Greg?" pried Dean

"I'm not...I mean, I WASN'T jealous of him. Maybe angry, but not jealous. He left us after mom died, went to go become successful and build up business or whatever, just left me with Sarah and Jane. Somehow I became the one to watch over them, I did EVERYTHING for them, and they were just so effing ungrateful. Partied all the time, got drunk, cussed me out for getting angry at them. And Greg...he never called. Never did anything."

"They thought you were the murderer?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," she said. "I only got off because there were no fibers of fingerprints, and because people die, like, every year in this town. They just pinned it to a serial killer and that was it. I'm just trying to live my life now, nothing's holding me back. Was that all, officers?"

"Uh, yeah," said Sam. "Yeah, uh, that's it. Thanks for your time."

"You're welcome," she said hastily, walking over to the door and holding it open. Dean attempted to rise from the sofa, cussing silently as he kept getting pulled back in. Sam laughed and extended an arm to his brother, Tabitha keeping her position by the door with an expression of annoyance and impatience on her face.

Sam finally succeeded in pulling Dean to his feet, and both brothers walked out the door. Dean spun around to say a witty goodbye, but was met with a slammed door in the face.

"Well, that was a heartwarming visit," he said sarcastically. "I feel all warm and tingly inside."

Sam shook his head. "I don't understand her," he said, with genuine confusion. "I mean, sure, she had problems with her sisters and her brother, but to just not care like that..."

Dean took his seat in the driver's side of his precious car, turning the key in the ignition and putting on Led Zeppelin. Sam sat to his right, his face still contorted into a disturbed expression.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sammy-boy. Some people just don't appreciate anything anymore," said Dean. "Let her go on her date. She'll regret it later, sure as hell."

"We still need to do more research," said Sam.

"I know," said Dean. "There's a library up ahead."

_**NOW**_

_Dean Winchester stirred from his fitful sleep, something wasn't right and he knew it. He shot his eyes open, panicking as he saw that Sam's bed was empty. But there was a note on the door._

**TBC**

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**More should come fairly soon, please leave me a review! Okay, I gotta go to work now...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow...super-long update. I'm so, so, so, so sorry! Christmas was so hectic, what with work and shopping and stuff like that. And then there's the fact that I hardly ever even have time to get on the computer, let alone write! I literally only have the occasional Thursday night, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Basically just the weekends-no internet access during the week. (pulls hair out of head...not really. But I do think I am starting to go crazy.) Anyway, here'e the next chappie! Thanks to all of you who have been reading this, and especially to those who have reviewed! I greatly appreciate it.**

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_**NOW**_

_Dean looked at the scrawled note, seeing it without really comprehending its inherent meaning. Sam would just be telling him he couldn't sleep. Went to the convenience store, took a walk...something like that. It had to be. The kid never slept through the night, with his freaky visions and crap. That was what the note was. But the sinking, gnawing feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach told him otherwise. Call it a "big brother sense", if you will. Sam never got anything by him, never would for that matter-and Dean's blood chilled when he thought of the possibilities the note could offer. Body stiffening and jaw clenched, he tore the strip of paper from the motel room door, squinting in the darkness to make out the message his little brother had left for him._

_**BEFORE**_

"I hate libraries." Dean leaned back on his chair, his hands behind his head, and proceeded to hum the "60 Minutes" theme with an unabashed vigor as he watched Sam work.

Sam shot him a glare, shaking his head in mild anger, but continued typing feverishly.

"I mean, we've been here for _HOURS_, bro. And your college ass hasn't found us anything about this gig."

Sam dropped his hands from the keyboard in an instant, shifting his attention from the glowing computer screen to Dean's frustrated face. "Dean, it's only been, like, 20 minutes. Not hours. Good research takes time."

Dean let out an overly-dramatized sigh. "Yeah, sure." He watched Sam continue to work, his eyes visibly drooping, and pretended to nod off. His head bobbed with each exaggerated snore, and then he bolted into awareness with a cry of "My brother's a nerd!"

Several people working intently in the corner of the room aimed menacing scowls at the eldest Winchester, and a particularly uppity librarian drew a single finger to her lips, loudly whispering "Hush!" as she moseyed past. Dean put up two hands as a sign of peace, then grudgingly turned back to Sam.

"Research can kiss my Kansas ass," he muttered.

"Then pull down your pants, Dean, because I'm gonna need your help with this one," said Sam. He never even pried his hazel eyes from the monitor.

"Seriously?" Dean whined. As Sam gave a minute nod of his head, Dean groaned and turned to face the computer screen.

"Stop acting like a little girl, dude. You're competent enough," said Sam. His tone was light, but a humorous sarcasm laced each syllable.

"That boosts my confidence," said Dean with a grunt. "I'm 'competent'. Woo hoo. Yay for me. Nothing to super-genius-college-brain-boy, but hey, who needs college when you're competent?"

"Exactly," said Sam blankly, too absorbed to throw around a punch line with his brother. "Now shut up and get to work, Dean. Look up anything you can find about this town, Its history...probably something for about the past ten years, since the murders have been going on for the past nine...weird deaths, a bad crime or something that could result in a vengeful spirit..."

"Man, I never would have thought to look up any of that, Sammy! You want to show me how to wipe my ass, too?" said Dean forcibly.

"Sorry, dude, you give me crap about not wanting to research and all, just making sure we're on the same page," said Sam, trying to redeem himself.

"Yeah, sure bitch," said Dean.

"Jerk," threw back Sam. The name-calling had become a reflex by this point.

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

An hour went by. Then two. Dean had begun his search by accessing the county newspaper database, limiting the dates to those within the past ten years, and choosing a keyword of _'murder'_ for the articles. Nothing except for some old lady who killed her seven cats in '97 and a butcher who murdered a farmer's cow in the next field over because it was larger than his own. Messed up? Definitely. The reason why people were dying mysteriously through symptoms of drowning? Not exactly. Dean changed the keyword to _'drownings'_, and though he got more results he wasn't sure if any would be valid. The tragic death of a two-year old boy at the county swimming pool, a woman who drowned herself in her bathtub – but no multiple deaths in one instance. No reason one person could be deemed responsible, no actual explanation for why a spirit would be out to kill siblings years after his/her death.

Dean had been silent for the majority of the time since beginning research – well, save for a couple of catcalls at some girls who walked in and a few shouted curses resultant of frustration, but that was pretty good for him. As the two and a half hour line came and went, he felt it was finally time to quit. Or rather, time to plead to Sam.

"Sammy-boy?" he said with hesitation. "Sammy, Sammy, whammy-kablammy?"

"Hmmm," replied Sam. His mind was still buried in the sinkhole that was his research.

"Time to go yet? I'm not finding anything," complained Dean.

"We can't leave until we've found _SOMETHING_, Dean, we have no idea where we're going with this case," said Sam.

"Well, sorry if I just don't have faith in these computers like you do. Maybe there really is nothing to find-"

"-Oh, there's always something to find, young man," interrupted a voice.

Both Dean and Sam turned their heads in surprise, met with the sight of a very elderly woman. She wore a thin smile, had gray hair in tight curls, and was dressed in a small ivory sweater with pearl buttons. The classic stereotype of the town librarian.

"I agree," said Sam, smiling sweetly. "It's my brother, here," he said, gesturing to Dean, "that you need to tell."

Dean gave a tight-lipped, forced grin, acknowledging the presence of the woman with a small salute.

"Well, he sure is the studious one nonetheless," she said. "I've been watching you two, you both have seemed very determined in your quest for whatever answers you seek."

"Yeah, well," said Sam. "We're just trying to do some research, you know? About these latest drown- er, murders. We're...Montana State Police." That sounded so stupid, now that he said it. He had to keep up with their alias, but in a library it was just dumb. Police officers never resorted to this, they had connections. And even if they did...they probably wouldn't be so clueless about it.

"That's nice, two brothers working together as fellow officers," she commented with a smile.

Count that as another tally in the record of dumb things said. Two officers that happen to be brothers, working on the same case? Kind of a stretch.

Dean gave Sam a pat on the back. "Yep, it sure is. Me and Irwin just have a blast uncovering murders together."

"Irwin and I," was the response.

"What?" said Dean.

"Your grammar, young man," said the old woman. "You said 'Me and Irwin.' Proper usage of pronouns dictates that you say 'Irwin and I.' It is grammatically correct that way."

Dean sighed. Memories of his high school English teacher flooded his mind. Not exactly warm thoughts.

"You have to excuse Robert," said Sam with a laugh. "He's never really had an appreciation for the English language."

Dean's face was one of murderous rage for a split second, but he skillfully reverted to a polite and charming expression as the librarian focused her gaze on him. "I apologize for my error," he said in a steady voice. "It's probably just the frustration I'm currently experiencing with my lack of relevant results with my research."

Sam barely hid a snicker in response to Dean's effortless intellectual demeanor, but was grateful as well that his brother was at least utilizing his skill with sarcasm to advance their case study.

"I'm sorry for your misfortune," she said with a frown. "What was it exactly you young men were trying to research? The case details are solid, albeit they leave quite a mystery. I doubt there will be answers on the internet to clue you in to the culprit."

Dean gulped. He had to tread lightly with his answer...as he couldn't tell the whole truth without revealing that they were searching for a vengeful spirit. "We're just trying to find patterns in the history of this town," he said carefully, "you know, possible other incidents a little before the first recorded murder that seems related to these more recent ones? It might give us clues that will help us uncover the identity of the murderer."

The woman thought for a second, her forehead creasing along the lines of the deep-set wrinkles set in her skin. "I'm not sure if this is relevant, but there aren't many murders in the history of Rapid Falls, as you've probably noticed. The one crime that really stands out to me is the Hall murder...it's nearing 20 years, now, though, which is why I'm not positive of the significance it will prove in your search. It was just such a heinous act, such an awful drowning..."

"Drowning?" cut in Sam. "The murder was a drowning?"

"Yes," said the woman. "Again, I'm not sure how that will relate. I do know that the recent victims were found with water in their lungs, is that correct? It is somewhat of an extreme postulation to relate such different crimes, but the Hall murder has never sat well with me. I've always had a feeling that something about it wasn't resolved, that it would come up again later in time."

Sam shot Dean a significant look before continuing with his questioning. "Do you maybe have a copy of the original news article documenting the crime?"

"I'm sure I could find one," answered the woman. "I'm afraid what my memory isn't up to par with what it used to be, I can't supply you with all the details on my own. Give me a minute or two to search the database, officers."

As the elderly librarian slowly walked away, Dean punched Sam in the arm. "See, man? My impatience came in handy. If I wasn't complaining that there was no friggin' info on the internet, the old lady never would've walked over. We would still be looking up crap from the past ten years. Brilliant idea, bro."

Sam opened his mouth in disbelief. "I don't remember you complaining about it! If I remember correctly, you asked me if I wanted to reach you how to wipe your ass when I suggested it. You thought it was obvious, dude, you are _SO_ not blaming that on me now."

"Whatever, freak."

Sam took that as an apology. Both brothers waited in the wooden library chairs for the woman to return, instantly straightening in their seats as she finally appeared at the end of the hallway. In her small, slightly shriveled hand was a strip of newspaper, folded carefully underneath her fingers.

"Here's the article, young men," she said. "It's dated August of 1986, almost exactly 20 years ago." She laid the clipping out in front of the two Winchesters, gently smoothing out the wrinkles and standing back as they read.

_RAPID FALLS, MT (AP)- Yesterday afternoon was a bleak time for the county of Rapid Falls. Murder is something rarely talked about, rarely mentioned, and even less rarely committed – yet the date of August 5th, 1986, was witness to just this heinous act. 17 year old Allison Hall, youngest and only daughter of Alexander and Julianne Hall, was killed in a surprising and tragic act of violence from her own brother, 19-year old David. The cause of death was forcible drowning in Rapid Lake, 2 miles east of their home on the outskirts of town._

_The Hall family has long since been plagued by poverty, Alexander having been fired recently from his position at the local bank and Julianne having failed at establishing a home business. David has claimed in his testimony that this was the reason Allison had to die. In his own words, "...she was draining the resources of the family. Allison was the reason we're poor. I don't feel sorry." Both parents declined comment._

_Rapid Lake will remain temporarily closed for further police investigation..._

Dean slid the article away on the table after reading up until this point, unwilling to read further into the sad story. The piece went on to describe the girl's life in detail, he knew, such pieces always did so. He read them without flinching, under most circumstances. It was necessary to doing what he and Sam did. They looked into a sad and unfortunate murder, uncovered the hidden meaning, and went from there. But this story...it wasn't as if it was more tragic than any others he had read. In many ways, in fact, it was among the more tame of the lot the experienced hunter had come across over the years. What ate at Dean's insides upon reading such an account, however, was the brutality of the crime. The indifference and hostility of the brother. He killed his little sister, he killed her because they were poor and she was too expensive. She was too expensive so he drowned her in the lake. He just didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the mindset – he would never, never hurt Sam. Never.

Except never hadn't worked out. The realization came to him then. He had punched Sam out of frustration, out of an overflow of emotion and guilt and despair. But he had done it. He had hurt his brother. Was he really any different from this guy? What would happen if he couldn't keep his anger in check? Dean swallowed, forcing a tight-lipped smile at the aging librarian.

"Was that article useful, officers?" she asked with sincere interest.

Sam pried his eyes from the newsprint, having decided – unlike Dean – to read farther into it. "Uh, yeah," he said, somewhat distractedly. "Yeah, that really helps. Thank you."

The woman's eyes were met with a white-tooth smile from the young man. She returned the grin, obviously already charmed by his effortless chivalry.

"Is there anything else I can do for you dears?" questioned the woman.

Sam glanced quickly at Dean, who looked like the only thing he was intent on doing at the moment was leaving the confines of the library. His eyes had lost their characteristic sparkle, the usual glimmer replaced by a dull sheen – they were eyes that were hiding buried emotion. The youngest Winchester wasn't sure what had spurred such an influx of feeling in his brother, but he knew they couldn't stay and chat with an old lady.

There was just one more burning question.

"Is David...Allison's brother...still alive?" he blurted.

"Oh, I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "He went to jail, of course, but I never thought to check on whether he is alive or dead. Honestly, I never wanted to think about the man again. If you think he is a possible suspect, I'm sure you can look up his name on one of those programs they have now, with the fingerprints saved to the system. Do you men have access to that at your precinct?"

Dean coughed, hiding the snicker he was about to release. Sure, they had access to a multi-million dollar criminal investigation program.

"Something like that," said Sam, smiling sweetly. In reality, of course, all they had to do was type his name in on the internet – elderly people really had to start investing in technology education.

"I wish you luck in your continuing investigation, officers. I'm glad I could be of help," said the librarian kindly.

"Thank you very much," said Sam, reaching his long arm out to shake her small, shriveled hand. Dean shook it as well, though much quicker and with some sense of desperation to leave. Sam, noticing this, made haste to the door. The sunlight was a shock to his eyes as he stepped into the outside world; apparently the sky had chosen to rid itself of the clouds that previously littered the atmosphere.

"Finally," muttered Dean. "Thought we'd never get out of that hell hole." He immediately walked over to the Impala, sighing with pleasure as he settled himself into the worn leather of the driver's seat. "I missed you, baby," he crooned.

Sam rolled his eyes, closing the passenger side door and crumpling his body into the cramped space of the car interior.

"So are you gonna tell me what's up with you, Dean?" he asked.

"What?" he replied. "Nothing's up with me, bro, I'm fine."

"I don't think so," grumbled Sam.

"What was that, Samantha?" asked Dean, leaning in toward Sam with his hand cupped around his ear, "Didn't quite catch it."

"Nothing," said Sam quietly. Now was not the time to press things with Dean – whenever he tried, it just turned out badly. He would deal with whatever it was in his own way.

"Fine." said Dean.

"Fine."

"Good."

"Yep."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"That's enough with the one-word thing."

Sam laughed. "Yeah."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That's one word."

"Sorry."

"Still one word, dude."

Sam shrugged. Maybe he just wouldn't say anything.

Dean turned the key in the ignition, starting up the rumbling engine of his treasured muscle car. "Good idea, Sammy."

There was silence in the car for a few cherished minutes. A few minutes that held an eternity of thoughts, an overflow of emotions, a few minutes that allowed each Winchester brother to mull over their respective musings in peace. But a few minutes never lasted for the young men. There was murder to consider.

"So we have a possible lead," said Sam finally.

"Mmm hmm," murmured Dean.

"What do you think, a vengeful spirit who wants to get back at all ungrateful siblings, drowning them like she was drowned?"

"Seems like it," said Dean vaguely.

"And David...we should probably see if he's alive, find out where he is."

"Probably, yeah."

Sam sighed. Something about this case was getting to his brother. And he would find out what it was.

_**NOW**_

_Dean felt the sudden need to yell. To scream. To punch the goddamned flimsy wall of the motel room. But he couldn't, because that would take up precious time, time he no longer had. He needed to find Sam. Now. Before it was too late. He threw the note with a sort of desperate anger onto the floor, the words it had contained haunting the crevices of his mind and threatening to drain the life from him. The crushed sheet of generic stationary was left in a pool of moonlight on the carpeting, ruffling slightly in the wind from the open door Dean had left upon storming outside._

_Dean,_

_I know you're going to hate this, and I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry for doing it. I have to do this, I have to before she gets to you. She's after us, you know that...and she's not going to stop until one of us is dead. I can't let it be you, Dean, I just can't. I know you think it's your responsibility to keep me safe, to stop anything from happening to me. But what if it's my choice? Do you want to stop me from doing what I want-what I NEED-to do? You've always protected me-I just want to give something back. I hope you can be happy for once, without my added burden. Please, promise me you'll move on._

_-Sam_

_**TBC**_

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**Please review! I'm not sure if I like this chapter or not, I'm kind of a paranoid writer-feedback would be so nice! Oh, and I just got a laptop for Christmas: a perfect, black, shiny, widescreen laptop! We can't figure out how to put in the wireless internet yet, but once we do it will hopefully mean faster updates! Yay! My mom said it was for college, but the first thing I thought was "it'll be perfect for fanfic writing." Of course, she doesn't know I write fanfic...she'll never know what a great present it is!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yeah, this really is the next chapter...the shock is probably killing you now. All I can say is that I'm SO, SO, SO SORRY! Really...this has been a way longer wait than I ever intended. There's been a lot of family drama lately – work drama, school drama, and just all around chaos. I've barely had time to keep up with the stories I'm reading and reviewing, that's really what I've been focusing on. I'm so sorry again! The circumstances were seriously beyond my control.**

**Since I last updated, tons has happened on Supernatural-but I won't make references now, as it would put the time frame all out of order. So there's no spoilers, besides the first couple of episodes. Is anyone still reading this anyway? Oh, and guess what: I'm writing on my new laptop! Yay!**

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_**NOW**_

_As Allison waited by the stiffening body of Sam Winchester, she took time to appreciate the extreme luck fortune had brought upon her. The man had walked up to her, walked right into the trap in the middle of the night. It almost seemed intentional, as if he knew what lie ahead. But that was impossible, she reasoned. Nobody knew of her actions, and if they did it was unlikely that they would purposely put themselves in such danger. He had just been taking a walk after his spat with his brother – they were just two siblings unappreciative of the other, no different than any of the others whose lives she had taken with pleasure. She would have been forced to stalk them out at their place of residence had the young one not strode so easily into her midst. If truth be told, she most likely would have targeted the oldest brother, Dean. They were both guilty of the depreciative behavior, but she had a sour spot in her heart for older siblings that wasn't easily forgotten. But her time was limited. The youngest would do fine...not like she could go back on the action anyway. It was already done._

_**BEFORE**_

"So David's dead." Dean scowled in frustration, laying his head in his rough hands.

"Yep, looks that way," said Sam, pulling off his police cap. "Cremated and everything."

Dean raised his head to look at Sam, genuine confusion in his eyes. "So how are we going to find out what happened, dude? The address of the girl was blocked, the entire family's dead, the locals know nothing besides what's in the article about the Halls, and the internet just turns up a big pile of crap. No family history or anything. Oh yeah, and we found out that Allison was cremated too...kinda puts a damper on our whole "vindictive ghost" theory."

Sam was silent, contemplating what they should do next. It seemed like they had hit a dead end, but they couldn't give up. If the pattern was to stay the same, one more life was still to be taken this year – and they had to stop that from happening.

"I don't know, Dean, I really don't. We could try to find their house, the article said it was on the outskirts of town, close to the creek. We could start there."

"And what, just wander aimlessly around in police uniforms knocking on people's doors, and saying 'excuse me, did a convicted murderer used to live in your house?'"

"Uh...not exactly like that, Dean. We should probably ditch the uniforms, for one."

"Why, dude? I'm kinda liking the power." Dean proceeded to imitate a showdown, whipping out the gun on his belt from his holster and pointing it to an invisible criminal, beyond the windshield. He smiled as he tucked it back under his uniform. "See? Makes me unstoppable."

"Yeah, okay," said Sam, laughing, "but in case you haven't noticed, our disguise hasn't held up that well. First the names, then the fact that the librarian knows we're brothers working on the same case, researching at the local library instead of at the precinct, the prison guards in there were suspicious that we didn't already know if David was dead, not to mention why we were there – not too smart, by the way – and all the locals think we're insane, thanks to your not-so-inconspicuous questions. The uniforms have got to go."

"Jeez, man. Relax," said Dean. "Didn't know you thought I was that dumb." Dean raised his eyebrows for emphasis as he glared over at time, facing forward again as he started the ignition.

"I don't think you're dumb, Dean! I was just pointing out that-"

"-I get it, Sam, okay? Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"But-"

"-it's FINE, Sam, okay? You're right. We'll ditch the uniforms."

"So we're okay?" Sam looked at Dean, his eyes pleading.

The older hunter stared right back, his gaze clearly telling Sam to drop it. The subject was closed.

Sam raised his hands in the air. "Okay, man. Sorry."

Dean's response was to turn the radio up louder, drowning both of their thoughts. The Impala drove out of the prison parking lot, heading somewhere that only the young driver knew.

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

An hour drive found both brothers on a dirt road, past the cluster of buildings in the center of town and heading through clumps of tall pine trees.

Sam looked with confusion out of the passenger-side window, glancing back at Dean and silently asking for an explanation.

When none was given, he vocalized his thoughts. "Where the hell are we going, Dean?"

"What, don't you know?" answered Dean harshly. "It was your idea, after all."

"We're looking for the house? But we don't know which one-"

"-then we'll ask," said Dean quickly. "This was your brilliant plan, college-boy, you can do the talking."

"Why are you being so pissy? I told you I was sorry, bro."

"Now I'm pissy, Sammy? You're the one who insulted my intelligence. Just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean I'm an idiot, man."

"Is that what this is about, dude? Stanford?"

"I don't know, Sammy. Okay? I don't know. All I know is that I get tired of you acting like you're on some pedestal, just because you went out to get educated while I stayed home fighting evil with dad. It's not like I couldn't have done the whole college thing, Sammy. I just chose to stay, okay?"

"I know, Dean, I never said-"

"Yeah, Sam, but it was enough."

_Behind a tree, in a transparent nightgown, stood the ghost of a young woman taken before it was her time to leave. She listened to the argument of the two brothers, trying not to smile as she recognized the perfection of the situation that had just fallen upon her. She now had a new target – either would do, although the oldest seemed to be a bit more on the unappreciative end. She would take one man, making it her last kill of the year. Ever since she had discovered her capability to reappear and seek vengeance – years after her death – she had extinguished the lives of four siblings before the turn of each year. It seemed to be her limit until she lost power until the next cycle. Her time was running out now, but it seemed she would make her quota. In an instant, her form vanished._

The conversation of the two brothers continued, both oblivious to their previous ghostly witness.

"Dean, I'm sorry again, okay? For everything. For leaving you and dad, for giving up the hunt. I just wanted to be normal, you know? At least make the attempt to do something, for once, just for me. I guess I was selfish, I don't know. I just thought...I just thought that if I left, I could run away from it all, you know? From all the crap in our lives, from all the pain and death and moving around from crappy motel to crappy motel. I never even thought I could get in to Stanford, I applied just to see, just to see if I even had a chance. But when I was accepted, and I got that full ride, I just saw this vision of the life I could have. And I wanted it, Dean. I really wanted it. The white picket fence, the 2.5 children, the whole nine yards. I didn't leave just to abandon you, just to spite you. I just never had that blind faith in dad like you did, never felt as driven to avenge mom's death. And I know why, now. It's because I don't even have one memory of her, Dean. Not one. It almost didn't seem real, the story we heard about her on the ceiling. I mean, I believed it – I _did_ – but I never saw it, man. Dad seemed to relate to you more since you were there, dude. I used to be jealous of you, you know? You remembered mom, you remembered dad when he was still happy, and you were always his favorite. The perfect son. I just wanted him to support me like he supported you."

Sam took a deep breath, tears welling in his eyes from the uprooting of such buried emotion. "You know, I actually thought he might be happy for me? How dumb was that?"

Dean bent in close to Sam, his face inches from his brother. "Listen here, Sammy, okay? Dad was proud as hell for you. We both were. He didn't want you to be alone, though, man. Didn't want you off by yourself in college. He knew that demon was still out there."

"I know, Dean. I know NOW. He told me when we found him again. But that's just the point! He didn't tell me THEN! I spent those two years trying to be normal, but always thinking he hated me for it – that you both hated me. Then I finally found Jessica, and I thought that was it. She made me forget about all the crap in my life, actually made me happy." He gave a cynical laugh.

"And look how that turned out. It was my fault. She died because of me, mom died because of me, hell DAD died because of me, because I was why the demon came to us in the first place. He tried to kill me when I was a baby. ME. Pastor Jim. Caleb. It's all my fault."

Dean sighed. How many times did he have to tell Sam this? "NOTHING is your fault, Sammy. You didn't ask for any of that to happen, okay? Do you hear me?"

Sam nodded. "But-"

"-but nothing, little brother. I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you take the responsibility for everything on your shoulders, it's insane."

"You're still angry though, Dean."

Dean pulled at his hair. The kid was damned persistent. "It...I'm an idiot, Sam, okay? I was just a little stressed. Okay? And you were a little-"

"-I know. Sorry." Sam gave a small smile. "So, we're really okay now?"

"Yeah, we're okay. Let's stop the major chick-flick moment and go kick some ghost ass, if the cremated bitch still exists."

"Sounds good to me."

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

The houses in this part of town were dilapidated. Wooden planks leaning clumsily against one another, seemingly held up by sheer will. Shingles hung loosely from the roofs. Small, dirty children poked their heads out of windows with interest at the passing vehicle, and mutts tied to pickets in the front yard barked without cessation at the rumbling of the car.

"Nice neighborhood," remarked Dean. It was meant to be a joke to lighten the situation, but came off as more of a sad comment.

Sam shook his head slowly in agreement, still entranced by his surroundings. "Jeez, Dean. This is awful. And so close to the town? Why hasn't anyone done anything about it?"

"Because people suck, that's why," answered Dean quickly. "They know what it's like here, but they just tuck it away in their head. If they can't see it, they don't think about it."

Sam said nothing, as no comment would justify Dean's observation. He peered at each house as it passed him by, mentally deciding whether or not it was a possibility. Most of the houses could be checked off – all the first houses were too close to the dried up river, and the last ones were too far away to be viable options. That left three shacks in the middle.

One held an older couple apparently in their eighties; they had walked out of their house holding hands just as the Impala had passed. It was a sight that warmed the hearts of both boys – that two people in such poverty after so many years could stay in love was a nice thought.

The second house seemed to new to be a possibility – it wasn't in good condition, by any means, but it seemed by the design to have been built within the last ten years.

That left one more house: a condemned, flimsy shack. The shutters had been removed, the windows had been taped shut, and rot had taken hold of the wood that was the base of the building's construction. Sam and Dean quickly exited the car, walking up to a small, red sign that was picketed in the front lawn.

It warned:

**DO NOT ENTER**

**THIS HOUSE HAS BEEN CONDEMNED. THERE IS SEVERE DANGER IN THE INTERIOR, TOXIC FUMES HAVE BEEN RELEASED WITH AGE AND THERE IS AN UNSTABLE FOUNDATION LIKELY TO COLLAPSE UPON ENTERING.**

_**FORMAN**__**CONSTRUCTION**_** WILL NOT BE HELD LIABLE FOR ANY INJURIES PERTAINING TO THE TRESPASSING OF THIS PROPERTY.**

"Going inside is out, then," said Sam.

"What? Dude, we'll be fine."

Sam sent Dean a glare. "What part of that makes you think we'll be fine: the toxic fumes or the unstable foundation? We'd fall through the floor and into the basement, man. Come on."

Dean shuffled his feet. "Fine, college boy. Guess your intelligence wins out again." This time, though, the comment was said with a laugh.

"Damn right, Dean."

As both boys headed back to the car, their spirits dropped. That was their last hope.

Until Sam had a moment of revelation.

"What about the creek, Dean?" he asked with excitement.

"What?"

"The creek. It is where Allison was drowned, maybe her spirit is still there."

"But she was cremated, dude. And the creek is dried up."

"I know...but...maybe something from her body is there that keeps her spirit alive. Remember how that one girl from the painting lived through the hair in her doll?"

"No Sam, I forgot," said Dean sarcastically. "It's not like that was the most traumatic experience of my life or anything."

"The point IS," continued Sam, "that creek bed could be the root of everything."

"Okay, man. Let's go."

**SPNSPNSPNSPN**

It turned out that a dried up creek bed wasn't that interesting of a place. The sides of what used to be the barriers of the small body of water still rose up to produce a long, narrow ditch, but all signs of life – or moisture – were gone from the area.

"I don't see anything," said Dean.

"We have to keep looking, Dean," said Sam, inspecting the ground closely.

"I know, Sammy, but maybe we're off-track with this one. The place is a wasteland."

Sam stood up slowly, looking off into the distance as if he had just realized something important.

"What?"

But Sam continued to gaze.

"What, dude?"

Sam finally turned back around to face his brother. "If she shed blood when she was murdered into the soil, it would have been absorbed. Which means it's still here somewhere, keeping her spirit alive."

"Jesus effing Christ!" yelled Dean. "You mean we can't do anything about it?"

"I don't...I don't think so."

Dean spun on his heels, pacing in circles. "That's just great. What do we do now?"

"I guess we just go back to the motel. See what we can dig up."

"On what?"

"I don't know, Dean. Anything."

"Fine, man, but you're college brain better pull through."

Sam gave a small smile. He hoped it would, too.

As both brothers strode back to the Impala, Sam thought he caught something in the distance. Something white and transparent. And it was setting its sights on Dean.

"Dean! Look!" Sam pointed in the direction of the ghost, frantic for Dean to see her. But she disappeared.

"What am I looking at, Sam?"

"Allison! It was her, Dean, she was looking right at you. She was right there, I swear!"

"Okay, let's think about this. You sure you saw her?"

"Yes!"

Dean looked up at the sky, taking a second to reflect. "Let's just drive back to the motel, okay? We'll think about it then."

"But-"

"-Sam, what are we going to do here, anyway?" She's gone."

Sam sighed. "You're right."

"Of course I am," answered Dean, winking.

As the car drove away, Sam saw her again. And again. Through the trees, behind a building. Next to a lamppost. She was following them, and Dean kept missing it.

Kept missing her swirling nightgown, kept missing her sad smile.

And the wink she gave Sam before disappearing a last time.

She was after them.

They were to be her next victims.

Sam sprinted from the car upon arriving at the motel, slamming his door and approaching Dean.

"We have to get out of here."

"What? No way, dude. We need to stay, we can't just leave a case."

"But she's after us, man! She is!"

"Okay, Sammy. Fine. Having ghosts after us is part of the job. I want to see this bitch for myself, anyway. Get rid of her some way or the other."

Sam sighed. He just had a bad feeling about this one, but he knew Dean would stay.

And he knew Allison had taken interest in Dean, in particular.

Which left only one option.

He waited for Dean to fall asleep, and wrote a note. And then he left.

_**NOW**_

_Allison felt a surge of excitement as she saw Dean appear through the trees. The flashlight shook in his hands...the man was nervous. She briefly wondered why – the two men didn't seem to care about each other. He probably was just scared of the dark, she reasoned. She laughed slightly to herself...this had been an easy job._

**TBC**

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**Okay, I think the next chapter will be the last. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**So, this is the next (and also final!) chapter...it's possible I'll be able to be persuaded to add an epilogue with some nice reviews, but I'm still not sure. Pretty happy with the way I ended it, but I guess my mind could always be changed! This was still a bit on the long side for an update, but not nearly as long as before! I'm so proud of myself, yay!**

**And by the way...who caught "Born Under a Bad Sign"? OMG OMG! (hyperventilates) I won't give anything away, but MAN – that episode totally rocked...although the preview for "Tall Tales" seems a bit strange...**

**I want to take a few seconds to thank all of my brilliant reviewers! I'm pretty sure I replied to all of you, (feel free to send me a nasty PM if I didn't), and to all those anonymous readers out there: thanks so much! Even though I couldn't reply to you, each piece of feedback I receive is always so appreciated!**

_**A/N: Since this is the last chapter, the "BEFORE" and "NOW" are finally the same time frame; so this chapter is all in one portion. Believe me, it was really hard to get them to match...but they're finally in synch. Just in case you forgot, Sam wrote the note, Dean found it, and Allison is waiting! As for Sam, well...keep reading...**_

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-_**NOW**_-

Dean tried to ignore the cold feeling penetrating his chest as he trekked through the underbrush, tried to disregard the blinding panic that was taking hold of his body. Panic isn't good for hunting. It spurs impulsive decisions, makes you do things you shouldn't that have the resulting potential to put someone in danger. And the _someone_ currently on the line was Sam.

The flashlight he was holding shook crazily in his hand...strange, as Dean couldn't seem to find it in himself to stop the trembling. His hand was always steady. Always. It was something he prided himself on from the time he was six, and bulls-eyed the cans of the fence with his dad's rifle. He maintained his prized steadiness under conditions that would have most people screaming in terror, under conditions that found him holding some of the most deadly weapons in existence.

But now, he couldn't even keep the damned FLASHLIGHT from shaking. It was involuntary, and Dean subconsciously found himself hating the sign of weakness.

As of now, however, he couldn't really care less.

He had to find Sam, before it was too late.

The entire backwoods area looked different in the dark of night. What was once a non-threatening, although admittedly depressing, neighborhood now seemed to loom taller...blacker...seemed to taunt him as he struggled to find the right friggin' place.

It was one of those shacks in the middle, right? Dean shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He couldn't seem to think straight.

Yeah. It was the condemned one. Right past the one straight ahead. That's where he would find Sammy.

Dean broke into a run, panting out of both fear and exhaustion, drowning out the sound of his boots squishing on dewy grass and crickets chirping somewhere in the distance.

Something was definitely up ahead. A vague, dark lump lay out on the ground, a white, wispy figure hovering next to it.

As Dean neared the scene, the lump took on a human form. And the white wisp took on the form of a young, female ghost.

Allison.

_And Sammy._

"Sammy!" Dean's voice came out hitched, choked.

"Sam!"

The lump that was his brother remained unmoving, dark hair strewn over his closed eyes and chest unnaturally, and frighteningly, still.

Dean knelt beside Sam, fingers brushing the long, brown locks out of his eyes and automatically...fearfully...searching for a pulse.

There was none. No familiar drumming beneath the fingertips. And his skin was cold, clammy.

Dean felt the tears start. They streamed down his face, erupting into sobs that shook his body. He felt the presence of the ghost, standing over his shoulder and watching him. But she said nothing, and Dean chose to ignore her for the time being.

No.

He wouldn't accept that his brother was dead. It was impossible.

Sam had survived things in his life that he had no right to. Been too injured to stand, too weak to fight, too battered to see straight. But he had always lived; Dean had always saved him. There was no way in hell Sam was going to get off walking into his own death in some act of martyrdom. No. He wouldn't let that idiot just throw his life away, throw his life away for HIM.

Jesus Christ, it was his job to protect Sam. Not the other way around. That kid never had seemed able to get that through his skull.

Dean felt anger rush out of him, felt it manifest itself into a sort of fierce resolve.

Sammy was NOT dying.

Dean pounded his fists in desperation on Sam's chest, willing the certain water present in his lungs to leave his body and for air to enter. The inevitable burst of liquid poured out almost immediately, but Dean continued his compressions. It became a rhythm, pounding compressions, blowing breaths. Pounding. Blowing.

After a few minutes, Dean began to lose hope. Something in him had known there was no chance of resuscitation from the beginning. Sam's body was too cold, his limbs were too rigid.

He had been dead for some time before Dean's arrival. Dean felt himself break down. He physically felt like his heart had been torn from his chest; emotionally it felt like all happiness had been forever drained from his soul. The sobs again wracked his frame, threatening to destroy him in their intensity.

The world became blurry; Dean became aware as he held his brother's head to his chest that the tears had obscured his vision. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes – Allison's form appearing in front of him immediately upon doing so.

Dean raised his head slowly, a menacing, grief-induced scowl placed upon his face to greet the expectant spirit. He didn't speak, but seemed to challenge the transparent young girl with his defiant glare.

Allison seemed somewhat taken aback upon peering into the red-rimmed, swollen, and empty eyes of the person she had stolen a life from. However, she quickly replaced her soft expression with a smug smile.

"I'll bet you feel sorry now, Dean," she whispered.

Dean grimaced, seeming to have difficulty forming coherent words without breaking out in sobs. "Sorry for what, you bitch?" he snarled through clenched teeth.

"Sorry for treating your brother in the way you did, of course," she answered coyly.

Dean responded by standing upright in front of Sam's limp body, casually pulling a .45 from the inner pockets of his leather jacket. The barrel aimed straight for Allison's opalescent skull.

"Don't you ever talk about my brother," he said menacingly. "You know nothing about him, about us. You hear me? Nothing!"

"Oh, but I do know enough," Allison said calmly. "You see, I saw you two arguing earlier today. In your car. You seemed to take each other for granted. I saw no respect in either of you two. One of you had to die, the other had to suffer the loss. It is the only way to learn the wrongness of your actions. If I had my choice, Dean, it would have been you laying here on the grass," she gestured to Sam with a smirk, "and poor Sammy, as you call him, standing in your position. But as he came to me first and my time is limited, he had to do."

"You...you..." Dean started sputtering, choking on his own tears. Sam had known all along that Dean was the target. And Dean had stayed, stayed because the temptation for a hunt was too great. The gun wavered slightly in its position, but stayed aimed at the young spirit woman.

"I what, Dean? I drowned him with phantom water so similar to the water that drowned me? He suffered, too...oh yes, I'm sure he suffered. You see, drowning isn't a nice way to die, Dean. Not at all. My brother, though, thought that was the way to get rid of me. All siblings are the same, you see. They only think of themselves."

Dean tightened his grip on the gun, clenching his teeth. "I'd stop all that talking, if I were you," he said. "Or nothing's gonna stop me from blowing you away."

Allison seemed to smile. "Oh, Dean. A little rock salt is only an irritant. "I'll be back. I shed blood in this land, I am tied to it. There is no way to get rid of me. And Sam will still be dead."

The words 'Sam' and 'dead' implanted themselves in Dean's mind. He sunk to his knees, turning back to look at Sam. He gently touched the side of his brother's face, cringing at the coldness and biting back a new flow of tears. He lifted Sam's head and placed it in his lap, unsure as to why but simply knowing that it was his instinct to do so.

"I'm so sorry, little brother," he whispered. "Sorry for starting that stupid fight. I'm glad you went to college, Sammy, I really am. I just want you to know that. It should be me, though, Sammy. I should have died, not you. I was supposed to protect you, don't you get it? You're not the one who deserved this. It's all my fault."

Dean bowed his head, body shaking silently in his grief. "You were all that I had left," he said hoarsely. "Tell Mom, Dad, Jessica, Caleb, and Pastor Jim I said hi," he said with a choked sob. "God, Sammy, I wish I could just see you again...you're my best friend, man. I love you." The last part of Dean's speech was uttered silently. It was the first time the brother had let himself say those words. Oh God, he wished he'd said them every day.

Allison cocked her head to the side. "You...did you say that you loved him?" she said with confusion.

Dean looked up at her, wet tears streaming down his cheeks, and nodded. "I just wish I would have told him," he said quietly. "Now it's too late."

If it was possible, Allison was starting to look sad. Or maybe Dean was imagining it. "You two...you two were close? But...but...you were fighting...it seemed like you hated each other..."

"We never hated each other," snarled Dean, anger returning. "We spent every waking moment together. Any two people who live that close together are gonna fight! Jeez, that was only part of it. Seems you conveniently walked out before we both apologized. I'd do anything for Sammy..." Dean stopped. "And he...he did this for me."

Allison's face contorted. "What was that?"

"Sam knew. He knew you were after me. So he came instead, to save me," Dean started to cry silently while saying this. It made the situation seem entirely more real.

"He died...for you?"

Dean nodded, a new sob threatening to burst. "And I'd just kill myself now if Sam hadn't told me to live in his goodbye note. Never have been able to deny the kid," he said softly. Dean glanced back up, eyes glistening.

"Look, I'm sorry that your brother was an ass, okay? You didn't deserve to die. But neither did Sam." Dean let out another sob, pulling Sam in closer to his chest. "He didn't."

Allison watched as Dean broke down yet again, now completely curled in upon himself and hugging his little brother to his body. And something snapped inside of her. These two were different than the others. Different from Tabitha and her three siblings, different from each brother and sister she had taken over the years. But maybe they weren't so different. Allison felt like she was swaying. Maybe it had all been wrong. Maybe she shouldn't have done what she did, shouldn't have killed anyone. Now she was like her brother.

She had been devoting herself to murder. That's what it was. She looked at what she had done and felt shame for the first time in ten years. She could have moved on, could have found peace instead of trying to get some kind of sick revenge. She could be with her parents now.

A bright light became visible, opening up from the sky. She looked down at Dean, expecting him to see it, but he remained as he was, showing no sign of recognition.

And then she knew. It was a sign. A sign for her to move on, to take back what she had done.

It was too late for the others she had taken, but something told her she could bring Sam back. She could bring him back and then go into that light, find peace forever.

"Dean," she whispered softly. "Dean."

Dean didn't even look up from Sam. "What," he groaned, truly sounding defeated. "What could you possibly say to me right now?"

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "You and Sam have helped me to see that this has all been wrong. Everything was wrong. Now I can move on."

"You know what?" said Dean, now standing up. "I don't friggin' give a damn! Great, you killed Sam and then you get to move on because you said sorry! Whoopdedoo for you!"

"You don't seem to understand," she said patiently. "There's a light. I think it's telling me to bring Sam back, telling me that it's possible. Once I do that, THEN I can move on."

Dean's choked sobs immediately ceased. "You can bring Sammy back?" he said quietly.

"Yes," she said softly. "I'm sure I can."

"Then do it!" he yelled. "Bring him back, now!"

Allison glided over the damp grass to Sam's side, looking up into the light from the night sky as she did so. It was what would give her the power to give back a life.

She placed her transparent hands over Sam's heart, a golden glow radiating immediately upon making contact with his chest. Sam's skin seemed to gain color, his lips lost the blue tinge, and warmth seemed to pour into him.

Dean watched, almost afraid to make a noise for fear it would disrupt the miracle he was witnessing.

The silence broke when Sam opened his eyes.

Dean let out a stunned sob, crawling over to where Sam lay and crying silently in relief as he watched Sam's chest rise and fall. He glanced over to Allison, who gave him a sad smile and a wave before disappearing into the night.

Dean returned attention to Sam, who was now blinking his eyes in confusion.

"Oh, God, Sammy..." whispered Dean. "Thank God."

"Dean?" said Sam shakily. "What happened? Where's Allison? I thought she...I thought she..."

"You thought she killed you," finished Dean, shaking his head.

"Uh...yeah. I just remember coming here, and there was water, all of the sudden, and she was standing off to the side, watching...it was like I was submerged in this never-ending pool. And that was the last thing I remember. I guess you stopped her before I could drown, huh?"

Dean couldn't stop the new flow of salty tears. Sam hadn't even fought it, he walked right into the trap.

Sam started to sit up, looking at Dean with concern. "Are you okay, man? What aren't you telling me?"

"I didn't stop her," he whispered. "I got here, and you were...you were..."

Sam looked away, realizing what had happened. "God, Dean, I...I'm so sorry...what happened?"

Dean shrugged. "Guess she decided murdering wasn't her deal," he said with a sigh. "Brought you back and then disappeared. Said she was moving on."

Sam was silent. After a minute, he decided to speak. "Why would she do that? I mean, after everything, why would she just change like that?"

Dean grimaced, looking up in the air. This would be a huge chick-flick moment. "Because...because, I told her..."

"What, Dean?"

Dean let out a breath, making eye contact with Sam. "I told her I loved you."

Sam's eyes started to tear. "And that...that made her go?"

"Yeah, she...she, uh, goes after siblings who hate each other. She realized that we didn't, and..."

"Dean?" interrupted Sam.

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

"Oh God, kill me now," said Dean with a smile.

"I'm serious, man. That's why I, uh..."

"That's why you were all set to kill yourself, Sammy? 'Cause I gotta tell you, if you ever try any crap like that again..."

"You'll what, Dean? Kill me?"

"Not funny, Sammy." He stood up, lending out his arm for Sam to grab a hold of. "Easy there," he cautioned.

"I'm fine, bro. Never felt better, actually."

"Yeah, bet you haven't. You just died and all, but you're fine."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

Both brothers were now standing, facing each other.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I'm glad you're alive, Sammy," he said. And then, unexpectedly, he pulled Sam in for a quick hug.

After pulling apart, Sam grinned at Dean. "That was a full-on chick moment, man."

"That never happened, got it?" said Dean.

Sam shrugged, following in Dean's wake as they headed back to the motel.

"Fine."

"I don't do hugs, Sam."

"I know," said Sam, laughing.

Dean opened the door to the Impala, which had been waiting on the side of the dirt road. Situating himself in the driver's seat, he looked over at Sam.

No matter what he said, he was happy to see Sam in the passenger seat again.

And he wouldn't take that hug back for anything.

**FIN**

* * *

**Wow, it's done! Please don't kill me for all the torture and angst in this chapter...but you had to know that I just couldn't kill our Sammy! I know I took the "kill me" lines from "Hunted", but they just seemed to fit there. Sorry!**


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